


A Sinking Feeling

by ChiaraRose



Category: The Trixie Belden Mysteries - Julie Campbell Tatham & Kathryn Kenny
Genre: Bletchley Park, F/M, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-17 12:20:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29100168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChiaraRose/pseuds/ChiaraRose
Summary: This story was written for a Jixemitri Circle Writing Event, which asked us to pull a historical event into the present day, with the cast of the Trixie Belden books starring. In my story, Trixie and crew are in a modern, US version of Bletchley Park, Britain's codebreaking campus, with Trixie starring as Jane Fawcett, whose code-breaking skills helped sink the Bismarck in World War II, in what I hope remains a fictional war with Mexico. I misunderstood the instructions, so the story straddles several people's universes.
Relationships: Brian Belden/Honey Wheeler, Trixie Belden/Jim Frayne
Kudos: 2





	1. Bob-Whites Relocated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Bob-Whites do their part in a fictional war with the Hispanic Alliance of the Western Hemisphere.

Trixie Belden leaned her head back against the bus window and let her eyelids droop. She could almost imagine that she was back in junior high, on her way to school in the morning. In the seat behind her, her best friend Honey Wheeler was helping her next best friend Diana Lynch run lines for Diana's next play. Across the aisle, a guy held a trumpet in his lap as his fingers danced on the valves, rocking out to music the rest of them couldn't hear. They were, in fact, riding an old school bus, redolent with what her brother Mart called "ew-de-student," and Trixie took a moment to pretend she was fourteen again, with no weightier problems than whether she did her math assignment correctly or the logistics of the Bob-Whites' current charity event.

She was the one who liked to say, "If only we could stay this way forever." And Jim, if they were alone, would respond by sweeping her up in his arms, nuzzling her ear and whispering, "You want to be fourteen forever? Really? Tell me why?" And as his fingers and lips darted all over her, she fell speechless except for little gasps and…

It wasn't the time to think about Jim. From her purse, she pulled out a pack of note cards and a pen. She and her friends had fallen back to the ancient technology because their location was top secret. The military let their screaming millennials know that connectivity was not mentioned in the Bill of Rights. The only concession to digital withdrawal was to provide ten secure cell phones that 2000 people could reserve for five minutes at a time. Otherwise, the Villagers could go into Kansas City or the army base near Columbia to send emails, tweets, and other digital socialization.

And writing a letter helped Trixie's illusion of the past, as though she were writing home from camp.

**Dear Moms,**

**Thank you for the fabric markers. I'm afraid they're almost used up already. We try to decorate ourselves as much as we can, to keep everyone's spirits up. Even artistic dunces like me can paint shapes and swirls on sneakers and jeans, and the artists among us—you know who they are—have done fabulous work. I'll send photos as soon as I can. Our suite mate Rose was happy because she could mark Navajo designs on everything she owns.**

Not that many of Rose's clothes weren't already obviously Navajo. Trixie's throat clenched a little, remembering the Bob-Whites' joy in seeing an acquaintance from the old days when they first arrived at the Village. They didn't recognize her at first. As a maid on Diana's uncle's dude ranch, Rosita had worn Mexican clothes of puffy-sleeved blouses and bright, wide skirts, as did Trixie, Honey, and Di when they served as maids. But now Rosita wore a blanket dress with Navajo geometrics and moccasin wraps, as though she were posing for Navajo postcards.

And when they rushed over, screaming "Rosita," she interrupted in a loud voice, "Oh, I'm too old to be called 'Rosie' now. Everyone calls me Rose."

Her eyes flashed a fierce enough warning that they all stopped in their tracks. Predictably, Honey was the one who said, "Would you like us to use your Navajo name? I know Rose was only an approximation of it."

Rose sighed. "Strange as it may seem, I don't want to hear my native language butchered by people who can't even speak Spanish."

Honey's voice dropped lower. "We do speak Spanish. Trixie and I have had pen pals in Mexico since we were thirteen. We learned Spanish so that we could talk to them."

Seeing her friend's eyes brighten with tears, Trixie distracted the group's attention to herself. "Of course, we mostly wrote Spanish. So we probably do butcher it when we speak."

Rose dropped her prickly attitude. "I'm sorry. You probably can't even contact them now. But, seriously, what are you thinking, calling me a Mexican name? That could be enough to get me shot—or sent off to the camps."

"We don't have camps," protested Mart. "It's America, you know."

"Oh, I know," said Rose in grim accents. She pointed to a Japanese woman across the room. "Let me introduce you to Kay—Kaori Sakura Takei. Her grandmother was born in a concentration camp in Arkansas."

"But not now," Di protested. "There's places Latinos can go for their protection—"

"Which just saves the government their travel fares. Look, I might need 'protection' if some ignoramuses thought I was Mexican. So I feel the need to be clearly, always, definitely Navajo. It's not a good time to be brown."

"When was the good time to be brown?" asked Mart.

Rose laughed. "Okay, so you're not hopeless."

This good feeling lasted only until she heard Mart call his sister and her friends "squaws."

**Thanks too for the cookies—yours and Mrs. Vanderpoel's. I'd recognize those windmill cookies anywhere. They all would be gone, but Honey has been designated Keeper of the Cookies, and she's hidden them to dole out one per day. Only Mart gets no more at all until he shows his thank-you notes.**

How like Mrs. Vanderpoel, to get the Bob-Whites into this situation and then send cookies to make it bearable. Was it only last spring break, right after the Hispanic Alliance had attacked Los Angeles, with everyone was still reeling from the declaration of war, that she'd invited them all over for cookies? And after greetings and catch-up, a big man who looked like a Bond villain entered her kitchen and took the last chair. "This is my friend Jumbo," she said and left the room.

He wasn't a Bond villain, at least on the surface, but an officer of the Navy. He was looking for bright young people who were good at puzzles to serve their country. He would tell them more as soon as they signed confidentiality statements. A glance at the statements, which already had their names printed on them, showed them to go far beyond a standard nondisclosure agreement.

"We could make a decision easier if you'd tell us what we'd be doing," said Jim after they all exchanged puzzled looks.

"No doubt, but this project is highly confidential." He looked at Brian, Mart, and Trixie. "Why don't you ask your father what his father did in the war?" He looked back at Jim. "Your college careers won't suffer. Double-major in Social Work and Education? You'll get practicum credit. Brian, you can serve under one of our doctors and get clinical credit. Madeleine Wheeler—Honey?—you'll get clinical credit for your nursing degree. Martin Belden, computers? Your university will give you life credit for your service."

"What can you do for Trixie?" Honey burst out. "She's already arranged to take her junior year off to be in the PanAmerica Dance company. She's worked so hard to be accepted as an apprentice, taking two ballet classes every semester to catch up to the other girls, besides all the gymnastics and strength training you need for that kind of acrobatic dancing, and how can you possibly make up to her for missing this once-in-a-lifetime chance?"

Her cheeks hot, Trixie interjected before Lt. Colonel Whatever Jumbo could say anything. "No, it's okay, Honey. I mean, there's a war on. I doubt PanAmerica Dance can go around presenting acrobatic shows of American folk and tribal dance when half of the hemisphere is at war with the other half."

"Not Costa Rica," said Jim. "War is against their constitution."

"Canada hasn't decided yet," said Brian. "I think they still remember World War II."

"Maybe Mexico," said Diana.

"Who can say?" asked Mart. Mexican diplomacy was indeed replacing Byzantine negotiations as the most twisted yet.

"What day is it? There's a different answer for each day of the week," said Dan. "But I need to tell you that I've already joined the Army." Over the other Bob-Whites' exclamations, he continued. "The day after the attack. They said I could finish my school year before reporting."

Jumbo nodded. "We need someone in the Army. And Beatrix might get more dance opportunity than she thinks."

After that, there was nothing to do but retreat to Crabapple Farm and impose on Mrs. Belden for dinner for four more. When Peter Belden returned from the bank, his offspring and their friends met him at the door and pounded him with questions about his father. After he untangled the questions and sat down, he told them that his father had been detailed to Bletchley Park during World War II. For years he kept quiet about his experience until the British lifted the secrecy conditions. Then he wouldn't stop talking about it. When no one would listen, he wrote down his stories. Peter still had that journal, if the Bob-Whites wanted to read it.

"Bletchley Park! Code breaking!" exclaimed Trixie. "Of course I'm going to do that!"

The Bob-Whites agreed, and after rushing through the rest of their semester, they were packed off for training and then to their stations: Brian to a ship in the Pacific to serve under Dr. Ed Hall; Jim to a ship in the Gulf of Mexico in US waters, and the rest to the secret underground station outside Kansas City to try to break intercepted code.

**Like everyone, we are growing our own food. Mart is worried that his watermelons won't be ripe before the first frost hits, but we still have plenty to eat. Please send me your pumpkin pie recipe. I want to make it for Thanksgiving.**

Trixie hoped she wasn't being too specific. Surely no one could figure their location from that? She switched her focus anyway, to be on the safe side.

**I miss autumn in Sleepyside. I'd love some photographs, if it's not too much trouble to print them out. I'm sure no place else could be as beautiful when the leaves turn.**

****

****

**Please don't worry about us. I don't know where we could be that would be safer, though I'm not allowed to say where. The biggest threat is the pollen, and only Mart seems to be allergic to it.**

Her conscience pricked her a bit. Honey didn't seem to be thriving, but it had been at least a month since she'd taken a few sick days. She'd gone to the doctor, who thought she was just run down. Honey had a lot to worry about, with Brian deployed and her mother fighting breast cancer. And unlike Brian, Honey was bored with her nursing duties. "All I do is hand out vitamins and birth control," she complained.

"Well, keep some for yourself," Trixie advised. When multiple emotions and colors flitted over Honey's face, Trixie added, "Vitamins! Take some vitamins. You're pale and droopy."

She and Diana badgered Honey into eating more and participating in the social life, which the codebreakers had to create themselves in their isolated location. There was Scottish dancing at lunch, other kinds of dancing on weeknights (including a reluctant Trixie's acrobatic dancing on Wednesdays that Diana had arranged), theatre, concerts, and talent shows that all the other Bob-Whites loved. Di coaxed Honey into the choir, but usually she was too tired for more athletic pursuits. Trixie didn't know how to survive without a way to work off her energy and tension.

**I talked to Brian and Jim two days ago, and they are fine also.**

Her stupid conscience raised its head again. She made the trip to the Army base every weekend to call her brother and Jim, and while Brian was thriving in his work as a doctor, Jim was still hollow-eyed and twitchy. A few weeks ago he could hardly speak. He'd just returned from a diving mission—Trixie had choked off asking what he was doing on a diving mission when his job was with encryption and mental health. Of course Jim would be a part of any kind of outdoor activity, and he had learned to dive with some of his college friends from Florida. The man who'd lived off the land as a teenager was probably catching and frying fish on the deck, if that was allowed.

It took Trixie awhile to understand what had happened, between what Jim wasn't permitted to say and what he choked on saying. A team of three had gone to a sinking enemy ship; only two returned. Jim hadn't known that the third man wasn't following; the second man kept urging them on.

"It was Slim Novarski, Trixie! He joined the Navy years ago, after Cobbett's Island. He helped me settle in with the ship's crew. He really turned his life around, and now he's a hero, but we can't say what he did, and no one will ever know."

Hating the distance between them, feeling helpless, Trixie assured him over his sobs that the Bob-Whites would always remember Slim as a hero, she would contact Mrs. Kimball on Cobbett's Island to help find Slim's family, if he had any, or to at least include his name on local war memorials.

The next week a Hispanic Alliance code machine arrived, the Rompecabezas, with a still damp codebook that listed the machine settings for each day. The codebreakers cheered and held a raucous celebration, where Trixie raised her glass of red soda—surplus donated by the gallon to the military—to Jim and Slim. Thereafter she made a point of silent thanks to them both whenever she worked with the machine or broke a message with the settings book. This last weekend, she'd told Jim that she'd heard back from Mrs. Kimball, who promised to put Slim's name on the list of Cobbett's Island war dead. They were posting the list at the library and town hall, with the intention of making a permanent marker after the war. Jim's mouth had twitched up at the corners, the closest thing she'd seen to a smile since the tragedy. She sighed as she signed her letter, wishing she could do more to help him. She wondered who could help the mental health officer.

"Oh, look, there's Mart," said Di with the slight gush in her voice that was always there when she talked about Trixie's middle brother.

Trixie turned to look out the window. She giggled at the familiar sight of her brother, riding his bike and wearing a breathing mask like the kind the Bob-Whites wore when they renovated their clubhouse. He was stopped at the checkpoint, and from his and the Army officer's gestures, he had to be talking to Dan, who liked to give Mart as much grief as possible before admitting him.

As Trixie, Honey, and Diana descended the bus steps, they heard Dan ragging Mart about the face mask in front of an even younger soldier. "You'll have to take it off. It covers your entire face. How can anyone tell if you're this Marvin Bolton? Take note, Private. Don't let anyone in if you can't confirm their identity definitely."

"Maybe you'd like a DNA sample?" came the exasperated voice distorted by the mask. "You can get some off of your clothes—the ones that used to belong to me, you know."

Di linked arms with Trixie and Honey. "I do think this is the prettiest place in the world, with all the gardens, fountains, and walks."

Their base was located on the grounds of a modern religion's headquarters. Its early leader had been a gardener, architect, and far thinker: he had built a system of underground tunnels connecting the early buildings so that employees and visitors had easy access, no matter what the weather. This feature led to the current uneasy partnership, where the religion still tried to function as more and more codebreakers poured in and the Army set up temporary quarters on the sculptured lawns. There were already extensive vegetable gardens to supply the retreat center and feed the poor; more were planted for the war effort. There were also a preschool, an elementary school, community meals, and other community services, and their clients looked askance at the military presence guarding parts of the campus that used to be open to all. The Love Thy Neighbor philosophy rubbed uneasily against the Who Are You and State Your Business attitude.

Dan gave up torturing Mart as the female Bob-Whites approached. They duly flashed their badges that he pretended to study. He declared that he would escort them to the path to the tunnels so that they wouldn't get lost: they weren't allowed to wander around. They kept straight faces through the act.

When they were a few feet away, he whispered, "Dinner tonight?"

Mart, now carrying his mask and wheeling his bike, exploded, "Someday, Dan…"

Di gave his arm a conciliatory pat. "He's just doing his job, Mart. He has to set a good example for his men."

"He doesn't have to bask in it," growled Mart.

"Okay, okay. I'll make it up to you. I'll cook tonight," said Dan, still grinning.

"And any time I want garlic stew, with mashed garlic and a side of garlic, I'll acquiesce to that arrangement. I'll cook so that I'll get something I can eat," declared Mart.

The women exchanged glances. Trixie said, "That means tamales. Let's invite Rose too."

"Fine with me. I'll bring drinks," agreed Dan as he turned back to join the others at the gate.

Four groans of "Red soda!" followed him.

Every morning Trixie was glad that the bus arrived early enough for them to leisurely stroll to their underground office. She loved the long rectangular mirror fountains spraying their watery arches, and she always turned her face to catch some of the mist. The first frost was still weeks away, but she already regretted when the fountains that covered a third of an acre would go still.

Honey gazed in the opposite direction. "Don't you love the Prayer Tower watching over us? It comforts me a little every time we walk by."

Trixie agreed as she glanced away from the fountains for a few seconds. The narrow, tan-brick tower loomed over the 1200 flat country acres, visible from anywhere except deepest part of the forest preserve. At the very top was a six-sided cupola surrounded by a balcony and topped with red tiles. Each cupola wall was a floor-to-ceiling arched window that glowed through the night and even now, in the early hours. It was a comfort to know that people were praying there around the clock and had been doing so for over 100 years, through many years of other wars. Trixie knew also that now a Red Cross worker was always on duty to take calls from deployed service people who needed to get urgent messages to their families. Jim and Brian had received that phone number. She hoped they'd never use it.

Before entering the tunnels, Trixie looked up to the sun one last time. It would be dusk when she went home. She'd have several of what the codebreakers called Vitamin D breaks during the day, but she'd still miss the light while she was in the tunnels. And she couldn't pretend any longer that she was fourteen and on her way to school. Trixie was going to war.

They parted company at the first intersection, Mart to the designers office to experiment with better and faster ways to break enemy code, Di to the teleprincess chamber (the name harkening back to when teleprinters were advanced technology) to distribute the broken code to wherever it needed to go, and Trixie and Honey to decryption room to try to break intercepted messages.

It was a quiet morning: no codes broken, and Honey called away several times as the site nurse. After Honey's third trip, Trixie decide it was close enough to her D break. She got a cup of soup, a guilty pleasure, from the snack bar. She and her brothers were old enough and experienced enough to appreciate the effort Moms put in her cooking, the homemade bread and farm produce that no restaurant or processed food could match. But Moms kept a supply of canned soups for busy days or suddenly sick children, and as a girl Trixie thought soup from the bright red can was a big treat. She sent a silent apology to her mother as she picked up her soup cup. She grabbed an orange too. Honey would be more likely to split it with her than she would if Trixie tried to scold her friend into eating the whole thing.

As she walked to the door, Rose's partner Sally called to her. "Trixie, Rose is on break and I think this code just broke. My Spanish isn't very good. Could you check it for me?" If they could get the initial settings right and guess a word or two, the computers could run through many possibilities in a short time. They would indicate the trials that seemed to produce Spanish, but people did the final checks. Just a few letters off could produce gibberish that would fool the programs.

Trixie looked over her shoulder. "Yes, that's Spanish. It's a submarine location." She looked up to the wall monitor, which showed a map of US ships. Trixie caught her breath. "It's near one of ours. Brian's! Priority One!"

Sally nodded as she typed and sent the message to the teleprincesses. Trixie went to the intercom board by the door—their technology was a skewed combination of old and new, because the old wasn't as easy to discover and was sometimes more reliable. She pressed the switch to connect her to Diana.

"Di, there's a Priority One on the way. It's a sub headed toward Brian."

"Not La Rosquilla, I hope. She sinks everything she gets close to. Okay, got it now. I've never heard of La Tortuga. The message is on its way. Don't worry."

Trixie sighed in relief. In minutes, Brian's ship, an aircraft carrier, would be moving out of La Tortuga's way and defense headed toward the area. She met Honey, looking harassed, on the way out. Holding up the orange, Trixie asked, "Split this with me? It's break time. Get your cup if you want to share the soup."

Honey shook her head and followed Trixie out of the tunnels, into the sun. They picked a bench where they could see the rosebushes, still bravely blooming, around the long, narrow fountains. Water jets lined each side, the streams meeting in the middle to form a sparkling arch as far as the eye could see. Trixie told Honey about the broken code and how quickly it had passed to command. A worried line etched in Honey's brow, but she too was confident, if not so much as Trixie.

Trixie couldn't talk Honey into joining the lunchtime Scottish dancers, but they met afterwards in the cafeteria where Trixie intended to shovel in a sandwich before heading back down the tunnels. They joined others who had also danced their lunch away: Mart, Di, Rose, and other less familiar faces. They were talking about presenting a demonstration of the various dance groups for the local population. The community hall was open to everyone. So far, they had Scottish dancing, English country dancing, swing, tango, Viennese waltz, and ballet. The discussion pingponged between which dances to include and what date they could get when there was already a play, a classical music concert, a songwriter's concert, and a general talent show scheduled in the next month.

"To give credit where credit is due, however reluctantly," drawled Mart, "my sister is a professional dancer, or she would be if she weren't here, and she should definitely be included in the exhibition."

Trixie blushed and stammered as Honey and Diana echoed Mart. She had no chance of or real excuse to avoid the show. Fortunately someone proposed a date in late October that had to be argued out, leaving Trixie to her embarrassment. She'd been so proud of being admitted to the company, of finally finding an artistic activity and being recognized for it. She wished she could recapture that feeling.

The intercom crackled through their argument and the rest of the cafeteria conversations. "Beatrix Belden. Martin Belden. Madeleine Wheeler. Report to the Red Cross at the Prayer Tower."


	2. Honey's Tragedy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Bob-Whites are called to the Red Cross to learn disturbing news.

The three stared at each other for a second. Then they sprang to their feet and ran, a clatter of overturned chairs and shouts from their friends behind them. Taking the lead, Trixie could hear Mart snorting for breath through his clogged sinuses and Honey gasping, further back. The Prayer Tower wasn't far, but it seemed to take as long as running from Crabapple Farm to downtown Sleepyside. A group of tourists were snapping photos of the fountains and the cupola on top of the tower, but they turned to take photos of the Bob-Whites, making Trixie wonder how their "decorated clothes" looked to the outside world.

In the Prayer Tower, a Red Cross worker met them at the door. She was of an age to have shrugged off unnecessary obligations, whose concept of fashion was now thick rubber-soled shows and clothes with pockets, in addition to her red barista apron with more pockets, all stuffed. She showed them to a room that tried to be welcoming and comfortable on no budget, with mismatched chairs in fair condition and cheery posters tacked on the wall.

"He couldn't wait for you to get here. There were too many others who needed to call their families. But it's recorded." She left them alone.

Brian's face, streaked with blood, flashed on the big monitor. Honey screamed. Mart fell into a sneezing fit, and Trixie couldn't hear the audio. She was mesmerized by Brian's eyes, dark and deep, as though he were looking into horrors. "Sh, sh," she said, putting an arm around Honey. Mart tried to choke off his sneezes.

"…attacked…hear it on the news, but I'm okay. Tell Moms and Dad. I'm okay. Ed—Dr. Hall—" Brian's throat spasmed. "Injured, but stable. He just left. We're airlifting the wounded first. Just waiting our turn now. Kim, my nurse…" Brian swallowed and dropped his head in his hands. His voice went ragged. "Dead. Many dead…not sure how many. I did what I could. Not enough." He looked at his hands and tried to wipe the blood off his face. "Not mine. I'm okay. Tell Moms and Dad. Covered in blood, but not mine. That's a good day for a doctor." He struggled to regain control. Finally he shouted, "I love you!" Someone pushed him aside, muttering that other people needed to send messages. Brian shouted one more time, "I love you!"

Honey held her head in her hands. Mart still struggled not to sneeze—or cry, Trixie wasn't sure which. She went to the door and called to the Red Cross worker, "Can you help us send a message to our parents?"

"Mine too," gasped Honey.

They agreed that the video was more upsetting than the message Brian wanted to get across. Sending just text didn't take long. Before they left the building, Honey scribbled a few words on a notepad and dropped the paper in the top slot of a carved chest by the front door that bore the sign, "May we pray with you?

Outside, Diana was waiting. She ran to Mart as soon as she saw him. "Brian's okay," he whispered, folding her hands in his. After squeezing them, he let her go and ran forward with his arms spread wide. "My brother's okay!" he shouted. "My brother's alive!"

He leaped over the roses to the stone fence around the fountain. He fell forward into the water with a splash and a loud "Oof!" Then he staggered to his feet and gamboled through the water, making hoots and the occasional shout "My brother's okay!" When Diana, laughing, came close, trying to scold him out of the water, he splashed her. The tourists aimed and clicked their phones, but two other designers from Mart's office walked by and shrugged. "Oh. Belden."

Laughing hard enough to hurt, Trixie thought of joining him, but doubted she could clear the rose bushes. Instead she did a couple of cartwheels and fell into one of the routines she'd learned with the dance company. She skipped the back flips to avoid a landing on the pebbly concrete. "This is what dance is for, when you're too full of feelings for words," she thought. She twirled a few more times before moving from the Inuit Swing to the Cherokee Shuffle.

Then she spotted Honey, sitting alone on a bench, her shoulders and head drooping. Trixie left off cavorting and dropped to her friend's side. Trixie put an arm around her and hugged. "He'll be fine. He's not injured, even if he is in shock right now."

"I can't do it," Honey whispered. "I just can't."

Trixie waited, squeezing Honey's shoulders again.

"Brian and I are married," she whispered.

"Honey, that's wonderful!"

"Sh. No one knows."

Trixie shook her head. "What am I missing? Everyone who knows you, everyone in both families would be so happy. Why the secret?"

"My mother. She wants to give me the grandest wedding ever. It's all she talks about. She takes a stack of bride magazines to her chemo sessions. Sometimes I think that's all that's keeping her alive."

"Brian will go along with this?" Trixie was having trouble imagining Brian as part of the grandest wedding ever.

"Yes. And Daddy promised us a six-week honeymoon if we'd do this for Mother."

Thinking about the evidence she'd seen of the Wheeler fortune, Trixie murmured, "New York cathedral. Army of bridesmaids. Flowers on every surface except the seats."

"It will be dreadful! But I can't take her dream away from her. And I couldn't bear not to belong to Brian, not when he might never come back." Honey looked down. Tears splashed in her lap.

"Don't worry. I'll keep the secret." Trixie watched Mart's antics in the fountain.

Dan came running from the gate. "Hey, out of the fountain! Oh, it's you. I might have known. I heard the news—"

"Today, oh boy!" caroled Mart as he clambered out of the water, splashing just as much as when he went in. He grabbed Diana's hands and galumphed in a clumsy polka. "My brother's okay! My brother's alive." He sang, "Shall we dance? On a bright cloud of music shall we fly?"

"It gets worse," said Honey, in grim contrast to the dancers. "Brian didn't want to miss out on pregnancy and our baby's early years. And he didn't want me to do all of that alone. But if he doesn't come back—" Honey paused for a few sobs. "I didn't tell him I wasn't using birth control."

"You're pregnant."

"I was."

"Last month—when you went to the doctor—oh, Honey!" Trixie turned to open her arms wide. Honey sank down, sobbing on her friend's shoulder.

Diana broke away from Mart's grasp to hurry over to Trixie and Honey. Mart grabbed Dan's hands and, catching him off guard, twirled him around while singing, "Shall we still be together with our arms around each other and shall you be my new romance?"

Dan howled and snatched his hands back as though they were burned.

Diana put a hand on Honey's heaving shoulder. "There now. Brian's fine. And I'm going to find out why he was ever in danger at all. I'm going back to check the message I sent out, just to be sure I did everything right."

Trixie tightened her lips. "And then we're going to find out why the James Carter didn't move out of range."

Diana nodded before she left.

Spurned by Dan, Mart dropped to one knee in front of Diana. "A token, fair lady, that I may go to war in your honor," he declaimed.

With theatrical flair, Diana untied her scarf, pretty silk streaked with blue and orange, and dangled it in front of Mart as she said, "You may as well have it. You've already soaked it.

Mart kissed it and tied it under his collar in a fat bow. "Now I have the requisite formal tie for meetings with top officers. Farewell, my lovely, until we meet again." He waved to her as she approached the tunnel and turned back to Trixie and Honey. "So is our sister-in-law telling you her secrets?"

Honey jerked her head up and glared at him. "How do you know, Mart Belden?"

"Brian told me right before he deployed. So that I could help you if anything happened to him. Something almost happened today, and I find I am not cut out for deep secrets in my family."

Dan joined them and punched Mart in the shoulder with promises of revenge. He gave Honey a severe look. "I'm glad you're not jumping around. You have to take care of yourself, you know."

Honey gasped. "Does everybody know my private business?"

Dan replied, "I can't answer for everybody, but if you want to keep things private, don't ask me to arrange a trip to a Kansas City hospital. I'm not the sharpest knife in the drawer, more like a spoon, actually—but I did spend my high school years solving mysteries with the Bob-Whites. And I'm now in charge of a bunch of young idiots who get pregnant more often than rabbits. Believe me, I am good at spotting the signs."

"All right," snapped Honey. "Since you all know parts of the story: Brian and I are married. I got pregnant and last month I lost the baby." She dissolved into sobs again.

Trixie hugged her tighter. "You shouldn't have had to go through that alone. I wish I had been with you!"

"And I wish I had been with you," added a sober Mart. "That's the sort of thing Brian would have wanted me to help you with."

"And I wish I had been with you," said Dan. "Because now it sounds like a party. I could have brought drinks."

Laughing through sobs, Honey swatted at him. "Go soak your head in red soda, Dan Mangan."

"I'd rather do that than return to gate duty, but gate duty calls, now that I've solved the Mystery of the Mad Fountain Jumper."

"And I do have a meeting," said Mart. "That's why I wore my dress shirt."

Trixie eyed his outfit. "The dress shirt that Di drew multi-colored hibiscus all over? Making it a DIY Hawaiian shirt?"

"I do have a reputation to uphold," Mart said. "Farewell, sisters. I go forth to do battle with the brass."

Honey sank back into sorrow after the two clowns left. "Oh, Trixie. None of this is like me. I hate myself now."

"Jim says—"

"Does he know too?" wailed Honey. "He'd be so ashamed of me."

"He's never mentioned it, and he'd never be ashamed of you. But he says that the first war we fight is within ourselves. We have to decide who we are and how to guard who we are, because war will drag us into horrible places, where it's easy to do horrible things and manufacture hate to justify those things. Of course, you, when you did something unlike yourself, you did it out of love because that's just how you are, Honey. Both families would have been so happy to have a baby Brian or Brianna."

They rose and, arms around each other's waist, headed back to their office. Honey whispered, "I have to tell Brian."

"I think so…maybe a little later."

"Did you and Jim talk about getting married?"

"Yes. But he said we weren't going to let war run our lives, that we'd get married when we were ready, when I finished college, had my year or two of dance" Trixie chewed her lower lip before deciding to plunge ahead. "Honey, I've been keeping a secret too. PanAmerica Dance had already fired me when we went to Mrs. Vanderpoel's and met Jumbo. They lost some funding right away, and they cancelled their apprentice program. So I was one of the last people they picked and the first they let go. I just wasn't that good. It was silly to think that I could dance when I didn't grow up in dance classes like you and Di. I thought I wouldn't have to tell anybody because we got the opportunity to break code and then the company shut down completely, but everyone's treated me like some kind of hero because I chose to go into service, and the truth is, I don't know what I would have done if I hadn't come here."

It was Honey's turn to hug her friend. "Oh, Trixie! You must have been so disappointed. Of course you should have told us. They didn't let you go because you weren't any good. They let you go because they lost their grant money. The Wheeler Foundation got all kinds of emergency requests from arts and social service organizations when the war started. If only we'd known!"

"I don't think Hispanic audiences want to watch North Americans and vice versa," said Trixie.

"I admit I'd rather have you here. Maybe the war won't last long, and you and they can regroup afterwards. But the moral is that, despite our working for an organization that doesn't even exist and that we're never, ever to say a word about it or the work we did here, Bob-Whites can't keep secrets from each other."

Trixie looked up the sky, as though to guzzle the sun. She breathed in the country autumn scents, still tinged with dying roses, and basked in the warmth on her face.

"My governess always said that would give me freckles," said Honey.

"Jim likes freckles," retorted Trixie.

"He should. He has enough himself."

At the memory of evenings with Jim, kissing each other's freckles, Trixie ducked her head and entered the tunnels, where her flaming cheeks might not be so obvious.

"I'm so glad you love my brother," said Honey, following her.

Truly Bob-whites could not keep secrets from each other.


	3. Trixie Breaks a Code

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trixie saves the day when she breaks a code.

"Let's get back to work, Mrs. Belden," said Trixie.

Honey sighed. "What a beautiful name!"

An hour or so flew by before they saw Diana waving from their office doorway. If you didn't work in an office, you weren't supposed to go in, another part of the secrecy of the whole code-breaking operation, which was a secret in itself. Trixie and Honey signed off on break and joined their friend in the tunnels. As they hurried to the sunlight, Diana said, "I brought some protein snacks—peanuts and turkey sticks was all the snackroom had."

Honey stopped in her tracks. "So all of my friends knew I was pregnant?"

"No," Diana replied. "Trixie and I talked about it, but we thought you'd tell us if you were. But you've been looking sickly and hardly eating anything. So, pregnant or not, you need more nourishment. So, are you?"

Honey went through her story again and cried with her friends again. They found a vacant bench near a row of lavender roses and divided the snacks.

"So what did you find?" asked Trixie.

Diana shook her head. "Absolutely nothing. Nothing out of the ordinary, that is. I sent the information correctly—I asked a supervisor to be sure. There was time for the James Carter to move and for a defense to be mounted. I don't know if the command wasn't given, if they didn't receive it, or if they ignored it."

"Finish up your snack, and let's find out," Trixie said, crumpling the peanut wrapper in her hand and pitching it into a trash can as she went back to the tunnels.

"Trixie, where—" Diana puffed behind her, and Honey behind Diana.

"To the top," Trixie declared. "Well, as far up the top as we know."

He had, after all, said for them to let him know if they needed anything. They hadn't, but Trixie had marked out his office, just in case.

"Anything special in the break room?" Trixie whispered as they entered an unfamiliar tunnel.

"A local donut shop donated leftover kolaches and bismarcks," Diana whispered back.

"Kolaches and bismarcks in the break room," Trixie called out as she marched down the hallway. "Kolaches and bismarcks."

A number of adminstrative assistants and door dragons poured into the hall to go on break. Trixie led her friends into one of the vacated offices and entered the room behind it.

Jumbo was as big and fierce-looking as ever, maybe because he was competing with his environment. This area of the underground maze had originally been for child care, and Jumbo's office was the baby room, complete with winsome bunnies painted on the wall in pastel colors. Trixie tried not to laugh.

"Sir," she said, thinking "not Jumbo, don't call him Jumbo." She drew a deep breath and told him the facts, that code had been broken giving the location of an enemy submarine, close to the aircraft carrier James Carter, which had been attacked, although it should have had time to flee or defend. Proper priority procedures had been followed.

"Belden. Sit down and shut up. Wheeler, Lynch, prepare to go Washington, D.C., tomorrow as intelligence liasons. Oh, close your mouths and sit down too. It might surprise you to know that I am aware of this discrepancy and others, which you have not been aware of because none of your circle was serving in the area. This operation does not, as you know, officially exist. The last thing we want the enemy to know is that we are reading their transmissions. Our teleprincesses do their best to reword the messages and make them seem to come from standard intelligence sources."

Honey and Trixie looked at Diana with new respect. They thought she was a glorified fax operator.

Jumbo continued, "Even so, too often the messages are simply not believed, tragically in this case. So I am sending two tactful, pretty—no, scratch that—intelligent, good-look, that is, persuasive young women as liasons for all intelligence groups, but specifically for this group, to see that our messages, which you know to be true, reach the proper ears and are believed." His bald dome was sweating.

Honey and Diana, lifelong beauties, exchanged knowing glances. Diana asked, "Sir, are you appointing us to this position for our brains or our legs?"

"You have both, don't you? Get out there and use them. Oh, don't look at me like that. And don't file a complaint. I'll issue you cattle prods. But you'll be more effective than any fish-faced OCS grad."

"Sir," said Honey, in a small but determined voice. "Trixie would be effective too, and you could have someone on each shift."

Trixie didn't dare look at her friend, and she blinked her eyes to keep the tears back.

"Belden is the best code breaker I've got," he said. "She stays."

Determined, Honey said, "Then I wonder that you want to break up our partnership."

"Partnership? You spend half your time running around being a nurse. Amazing how many people need vitamins. So it must be Belden who's breaking the codes. Dismissed."

No one could think of any more arguments, even if Jumbo had been willing to listen, and they shuffled out. Somehow Trixie found herself and Mart at the gate next day, saying good-bye to Honey and Diana. Mart and Diana were almost hopping in glee until Mart put his arms around her for a final kiss. Then they froze, as though a stopped film frame. After they ignored several throat clearings, Dan called to his underlings, "Let's search their luggage. We can't risk any classified materials leaving this site.

Honey looked up at him from her seat in the jeep. "Keep your hands out of my underwear, Dan."

Diana turned her face away just enough to say, "Mine too."

Dan called, "Private Jane Lyons, conduct the search. Keep an eye out for digital devices and printouts."

She searched carefully, with Dan's encouragement. Mart and Diana took full advantage of the time while Honey sighed and rubbed her head, as though she had a headache. Trixie couldn't speak over the lump in her throat. She couldn't smile, but she tried to look pleasant, at least. Dan finally broke up the lovebirds.

"Your driver—that is, me—has an appointment at the base. So I need to deliver this cargo to the airport and get on my way."

Diana and Honey waved, and Mart and Trixie waved back as the jeep sped out of sight. Then Trixie dropped all pretense and snapped at Mart, "What are you so happy about? They're going to Washington, D.C."

"Ah, younger sibling, but so am I going to Washington, D.C., for a cryptographic seminar at Georgetown University with all the biggest names in the industry. For an entire semester, though perhaps on an accelerated schedule, in deference to the needs of war. A spectacular career opportunity—and the chance to be with lovely Diana someplace besides the middle of a soybean field."

Trixie made strangled noises before spitting out, "That's great! Must get back to work."

Back at her desk, Trixie had a hard time concentrating. Honey was supposed to be her partner, and the work seemed undoable alone. Trixie reminded herself of all the times she had to work alone when Honey's nursing duties called her away. She reminded herself harder that each message might mean life or death to someone else's brother or husband, or sister or wife.

While the rest of the room chatted about the evening's activities, Trixie went right to the gate. She didn't feel taking part in anything, and she had to see Dan, had to tell him about Mart. But Dan wasn't on duty then or the next morning. Surely he had days off, but Trixie was outraged that he was gone now, when she needed him. Mart had wheedled a few days of leave before his seminar started on Monday, and Trixie saw him off in the late afternoon after their shift. She had one foot on the bus step when one of the soldiers asked, "Belden? I know, he was Belden, but are you too?"

Trixie nodded, and the private shoved an envelope in her hand marked with all the secrecy stamps that the gatehouse had access to. She took a seat near the front of the bus and tore open the letter.

**Trixie, I'm headed for Officer Training School right away, no time to see anyone. Sorry to leave you and Mart by your lonelies but no one asks your permission these days. I have leave afterwards and will hope to see you then. Is there a chance that Honey and Di could join us? Or we could go to them, if we can all get leave at the same time? Keep on doing your top secret stuff. Love, Dan.**

She read the letter over and over until the bus stopped near her cabin that she'd shared with Honey, Diana, and Rose. Trixie almost fell down the steps as she stumbled to her room. She fell face down on her bed and sobbed, the kind of choked crying a girl learns to do when she has three brothers.

She cried until she had a headache, until she became aware of someone else in the room. She lifted her head from the sopping pillow and saw Rose sitting on Honey's bed.

"You left the door open," Rose said.

Trixie sniffled as she flailed for a tissue. "What do you want? Why didn't you say something?"

"Navajos wait for people to finish their story. I don't want anything, but I thought you might want help."

"No one can help me. When Jim and Brian were deployed, it was sort of like when they went to college. We were used to seeing them every day, and then we didn't, for weeks at a time, but we knew they were coming home. Then Mart went to college, and Dan too, but he came back on weekends to help Mr. Maypenny with the game preserve. And sometimes Di went on trips with her family. But I've hardly ever away from Honey for more than a few days since we were thirteen. And now they're all gone, and maybe they'll never come home, and I can't pretend it's just a jolly Bob-Whites vacation any more." Trixie punctuated her sentences with sniffs and sobs until she couldn't talk any more.

"No, you can't do that. What I do when I go away from the Dine, my people, is to find something that represents all my memories, all my feelings for them." She looked down at the turquoise and silver bracelet that she always wore, that her father made for her.

Trixie looked down at her own jewelry, a teenager's ID bracelet that Jim gave her when she was fourteen. He'd given her other presents since, but somehow this one represented the Bob-Whites and Jim's special place in her heart.

Rose's voice became a sing-song, with rhythm and changing pitch. "And we record our stories, some in song, some in art, some in books, so that people will know what is important to us and that we can remind ourselves who we are and what is important."

"Thanks." Trixie wiped her eyes a last time. "Would you like to move in my room? I'm sure we'll be assigned new suite mates, and I'd rather be with a friend than a stranger."

Rose smiled. "Thank you, but no. I have my bed by the east window, so that the dawn wakes me up each day, like a proper Navajo. But if you would like to take Di's bed, you would be welcome."

Trixie came to realize that she'd been one of the luckiest people at the Village, to have so many friends and family close to her. Most were like Rose, with no one from their homes to talk to, and with whom they could never share their work. Rose's grandfather was a Navajo code talker, and her family thought she was doing something similar, but most families just knew that their loved one was "in the service."

As weeks went by, the sharpness of her pain eased. Brian recovered and was sent to another ship: the Endeavor, with Jim! They both looked happier right away, and Trixie was glad for them, glad for Mart, Di, Honey, and Dan, whose officer training was near enough to Washington for him to visit the others.

But her happiness for them didn't fill the hole in her heart, and she still asked herself each morning "What would Trixie do?" Trixie would do her best at work, reminding herself that she never knew what message would save someone's life. She would participate in the activities that the Village created for itself—and they were legion. She talked to friends and family when she could, wrote letters when she couldn't, and wrote her story, as Rose had suggested.

Of course she started with meeting Honey and Jim, all those years ago. She was amazed at how fast the story grew, just by writing on her breaks and a few minutes in the evening. It did soothe the loneliness to revisit all those memories. She still took her breaks outside, though the days grew chillier. A cup of her favorite soup in its bright red container made her think of home, home as it was to a new teenager meeting new friends, her first close friends. As she neared the story of the fire, she wondered if other young girls would like to read her adventures. Certainly the Bob-Whites had enough adventures to write about! But she'd need another name. None of the authors she knew used their real names. She smiled at her soup cup. That was a nice, American last name. But what about a first name? Her thoughts immediately went to Jim, but she giggled—the first time since Honey and Di left—at the thought of Jamesina or Jimmie Sue. Jim's cousin Juliana had a beautiful name, but Trixie thought it too elegant for Tomboy Trixie. But she could shorten it, and that would make a great author name. Her _nom de plume_ chosen, she wrote a few more minutes until her fingers stiffened with cold.

Returning to her desk, she groaned at the stack of intercepts left for her. What was worse, they'd been recorded by hand, meaning they had a much higher rate of errors and more likely to produce gibberish than intelligence in Spanish. She set up her cribs. The message likely had "Andiamos" near the end, that being kind of a battle cry. The first set of letters would be the setting for the day, not encrypted. ANNLI. Well, that was wrong. Letters were never repeated.

She almost tossed it aside as not worth trying when an idea nudged her. El Rompecabezas used a classical base of thirty letters, not the modern Spanish alphabet of twenty-seven. And English speakers had trouble with ñ as a separate letter, and even more trouble with ch, ll, and rr as single letters. So what if one of the two Ns was really an Ñ? And maybe the LI was really LL something else? She set up her program with several possibilities to try. Her stomach tensed, and she wished she could go away and come back to a translated message, but she had to stay to tell the computer which of its efforts were really Spanish.

No. No. Not that one either.

Rose and Sally waved farewell as they ended their shift. Trixie sighed. How many ways could the computer be wrong? She knew the answer was in the millions, but she'd hoped to narrow it down. She had just started to make notes for the next shift when the computer's offering gelled into beautiful, clear Spanish: A ship setting up a rendevous with another…La Rosquilla! That deadly ship with the silly name! And it was headed for…she glanced at the ever-changing map on the monitor.

The Endeavor. Jim and Brian would be in La Rosquilla's sights.

She shoved it out to the teleprincesses with the highest priority. She ran to their door to ask for confirmation that the message went to Washington. She was free to return to her room or to go to English Country Dancing or work on theater sets, but she just paced the path by the fountains, too nervous for anything else. Of course, Honey and Di would pick up the message and get it to the right people.

Of course they would.

She couldn't stand it. How could she get a message to them directly? All the phones were booked up for weeks. It would take too long to get to the Army base or into Kansas City. Instead, she ran into the Prayer Tower, where she found the same Red Cross worker.

"Please, I need to get a message to my family." She thought about the need for secrecy and added. "It's going to sound pretty silly, but it's important."

Honey and Di had their own cell phones now. So she chose to send a text to both of them. "I just sent your birthday present. Open it right away!"

The Red Cross worker smiled, but sent the message as Trixie wrote it.

Then there really was nothing else to do. She hoped Honey and Di would understand, since neither of them had a fall birthday. She lay in bed all night, eyes wide open, and trudged to her desk the next morning. At some point during the day, she was called to the Prayer Tower to pick up a message from Honey: "We love our presents! We shared them around. Thanks so much!"

So the message arrived at the right place in Washington, at least. On Sunday she went to the Army base for her calls with Jim and Brian, easier now that they were on the same ship. She waited, waited past their scheduled time, until the line of other people waiting to talk grew too long and loud. She tried the people in D.C., but they either didn't pick up or had no news.

"We would have heard, if something had happened," said Honey. But the worried lines on her brow gave her away.

Trixie scanned the news channels, but she found no mention of either the Endeavor or La Rosquilla.

When she was called to Prayer Tower on Thursday, she could hardly walk, her legs weak with dread. She wanted to scream when she arrived and heard that the party had scheduled in advance to be sure of speaking with her.

Jim's beloved face, full of freckles, topped with his copper red hair, filled the screen. He was smiling. Trixie smiled too, but with tears running down her cheeks.

He said, "They're releasing the news today, but I didn't want you to be worried when you heard it. We sank La Rosquilla, us and three other ships. Some intelligence told us right where she was, and we had time to gather the others and cut her off from her support. We've been fighting for days. Brian and I are just fine, and so are most of our shipmates, just a few injuries that Brian's already patched up."

Jim being Jim, his face grew anguished as he obviously remembered the battle and the toll on lives of both sides. "It's my fault," thought Trixie. "I'll have to live with knowing I sent the knowledge that caused all this destruction. But if I hadn't, Jim and Brian might not be alive now. And I still would have done it to save people I didn't know." From the bottom of her soul, she vowed to work for peace the rest of her life.

Jim continued, "The battle was over yesterday, but we've been rescuing La Rosquilla's survivors ever since. We saved at least half of her crew."

Trixie burst out laughing and hugged the monitor. "Of course you did. Of course you did."

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The historical event portrayed by the versatile Bob-Whites is the code-breaking activities at Bletchley Park (played by Unity Village near Kansas City, MO) leading up to the sinking of the Bismarck (La Rosquilla).
> 
> Trixie plays Jane Fawcett, a dancer who was declared too tall for ballet. Her parents sent her to Germany to get over her disappointment, and she was recruited to Bletchley Park on the theory that she must have learned some German (though she said her skills weren't much beyond reading a menu). She broke the code that led to the sinking of the Bismarck. Most of the time the code breakers had no idea if they were accomplishing anything. I couldn't see any way to get Trixie into a tutu, but I could see her discovering a more modern, strength-based dancing along the lines of Riverdance and Stomp.
> 
> Jim plays one of the team that rescued a Naval Enigma (El Rompecabezas) and its code book during the sinking of U-559. Three Royal Navy sailors, Lieutenant Anthony Fasson, Able Seaman Colin Grazier, and NAAFI canteen assistant Tommy Brown acquired the Enigma and its settings book. Fasson and Grazier (played by former villian Slim Novarski) died in the attempt. Their sacrifice allowed Bletchley Park to break the four-rotor Naval Enigma, which had been impossible before that.
> 
> Mart plays Alan Turing and Angus Wilson, who in addition to designing methods and machines, did ride a bicycle while wearing a face mask (Turing) and jump in the lake (Wilson) on at least one occasion. It was a great comfort to Turing's family when his eccentricities became public after his death that no one at Bletchley Park thought he was any stranger than any of the other residents. Bletchley Park was an informal, egalitarian place where uniforms were not worn (until the advent of stricter officers) and clothes were bright, cheerful, and odd to keep up morale. There were enough clubs and activities to keep everyone busy in their off-hours.
> 
> Honey and Diana play the Hon. Sarah Baring and Osla Benning, two lovely debutantes who broke code until sent to be liaisons with the military headquarters so that the intelligence that Bletchley Park gathered would be believed. Osla was engaged to Prince Phillip until he turned his eyes towards young Princess (now Queen) Elizabeth.
> 
> Dan plays one of the now-nameless security guards who hassled Alan Turing and other Bletchley-ites. The officers told their subordinates that Bletchley was an insane asylum and would threaten to put them on the other side of the gate as punishment.
> 
> Brian plays one of the many military doctors who served in World War II, risking their lives to save others.


End file.
